


Free Hugs

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya was certain it wasn't a dream, but a seasoned UNCLE agent just doesn't vanish from the face of the earth... does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Hugs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jkkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkkitty/gifts).



It was impossible to walk quietly through the fallen leaves and other detritus, so they chose precaution over stealth. Both men had their weapons drawn and their eyes constantly scanned the shadows for any sign of their enemy.

“So, what’s it like working with Solo?” Brian Mimms had been Section Two forever.  It was rumored he was one of Waverly’s special exceptions to the over forty rule.

Illya kept his attention focused on the forest. “Suffice it to say, it’s always interesting.”

“So I’ve heard.” Mimms pulled up and pointed.  “What’s that over there?”

“It looks like an abandoned shed.” The structure was building into a hillside and was severely overgrown.

“Want to bet it’s not so abandoned?”

“Wouldn’t that be akin to standing in the middle of a field wearing a flashing light?” Illya didn’t like it when things seemed too easy.  He took out a small camera and took a couple of shots.

“What are you doing that for?”

“First, it’s an interesting structure and, second, I’m trying to build a file of attack scenarios for the incoming recruits.”

They rounded the front of the building and both stopped.

“Free hugs?” Illya read the painted words aloud.

“I do believe we have found the local wishing well.”

“Wishing well?” Illya was confused.  “There is neither a water source or—“

“Man, I heard you were literal. I heard about this in town.  Apparently, you state your wish and then ask for a hug.” 

“And?”

“That’s where it gets a little murky. No one could fill me in on the _and_ part.”  Mimms holstered his weapon.  “I’m going in to take look around.”

“Is that wise?”

“It’s what, twelve by twelve? There’s hardly enough room in there to swing a dead THRUSH, much less them ambush me.  You keep watch and I’ll take a quick look.  Plus I need to… you know.”

“Again?”

“I’m an old man. What else can I say?”  He took a couple of step.  “Besides.”  He pointed to the words.  “Free hugs.  Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten a good hug?  I think the last time was when I was seven and Bobo the clown hugged me.  Talk about terrifying.  It was months before I could sleep with the lights off.  I hate clowns. The only way a clown could hug me was if I was dead.  Hell, I’d rather be dead than a clown.”

 Illya nodded and took up a defensive position beside a tree.  “Just be fast about it. It will be night soon and we need to rendezvous with the others.”  They were behind schedule and Illya was anxious to move on.

“Right.” Mimms stood in the doorway.  “Okay I’m here, lay a hug on me!”

Illya laughed and turned away, his attention on the horizon. He counted off the minutes in his head and when it hit fifteen, he looked back at the shed.  “Brian!  Brian, are you all right?”

There was an answering, “Mmph!” and it sounded strained. Sighing, Illya resumed his position.  “You have five more minutes and then we have to leave.”

Five and then ten minutes passed. Illya made a rude noise and dug a flashlight out of his pocket.  Approaching the door, he glanced first right and then left, his eyes falling on the words again.  “I think I will pass on the hug, but I thank you for the offer.”

He stepped into the small structure and let his flashlight beam pierce every inch of the room. There were no windows or other doors and it was totally empty.  Panicked, Illya immediately took out his communicator.  “Open Channel K, please.”

He heard a shrill familiar whistle and followed it to the middle of the room. The communicator laid, half buried in the dry and brittle leaves.  “What the hell?”  He spun around.  “Brian?  Agent Mimms, report!”  Only the echo of his own voice answered him.

He spent the next ten minutes looking for any sign of his fellow agent, but there was nothing. With a sigh, Illya stepped out of the hut.  “Open Channel D, please.  Napoleon Solo.”

“Solo here.”

“Napoleon, I seem to have a missing agent.”

“What?”

“Agent Mimms is missing. He went into this hut and vanished.”

“Okay, rendezvous with us and we’ll organize a search party.”

“Understood. Kuryakin out.”  He started to walk away and then stopped.  Something was bothering him.  He turned back to the cabin, hoping beyond hope that Brian would be walking out of it, but nothing.  “Brian!  Brian Mimms, where are you?  Show yourself!”  The rustling of the trees and a sudden gust of wind were the only responses.  On an impulse, Illya took more photographs for reference shots for the search party and headed out.

                                                                                ****                                                                    

The search party found nothing, no cabin, no Brian, no anything. Illya cursed and swore, but he lacked the necessary field equipment to develop the film and after three days, the search was called off and Brian was listed as MIA.

It was a month later and the incident had been moved to the back of Illya’s mind by their constant battle with THRUSH. The current week had been one of bitter failures for UNCLE and brilliant successes for THRUSH.  It was not a good combination and it had only been a true Act of God to eke out a last minute victory.  It had cost UNCLE too many good men, though.

Illya took a long pull on his vodka and stared out his living room window. Below his apartment, people wandered about on their daily business unaware of the price that others paid for their freedom to grumble about taxes, their bosses, and other trivial concerns.

There was a series of knocks at his door and Illya recognized Napoleon’s particular pattern. After a minute, the lock and knob turned.

“Oh, hi!” Napoleon seemed startled that Illya was there.  “I… ah… thought you were out.”

“No, I needed to stay in tonight.”

“I’m kinda glad you did. I have something for you.”

“What?”

“Ah, could I get a drink first?”

“Sure. Sorry.”  Illya walked over to his paltry collection of bottles.  “I can offer you vodka, vodka or, ah, some scotch.”

“The scotch and you better fix one for yourself as well.”

“All right.” Illya’s curiosity was piqued now. 

After they’d settled with their glasses, Napoleon held out a manila folder. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Remember the shots you took the day Brian disappeared? The lab found the roll of film and developed it.”  Illya opened the envelope and began to sift through the eight by tens.  There was nothing extraordinary in them.  “The one you want is the last one.”

“What the hell?” Illya stared at the shot and then down at the time stamp.  “This was after he disappeared.”

“I know.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think there is a world of things I don’t understand and this is at the top of the list.”

Standing in the doorway of the shambles of a cabin was Brian Mimms, dressed up in a colorful clown suit, a painted smile on his lips and a look of pure terror in his very dead eyes.

 

 

 


End file.
